


Thirst

by extremesoft



Category: Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Biking, First Kiss, M/M, Merry Christmas y'all!, Roadtrip, and she has no idea how it came to this, ho ho ho it's Santa here, insufferable beating about the bush, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 11:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16974210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extremesoft/pseuds/extremesoft
Summary: The only good thing about this horror is that if I die here, at least I’ll be staring at his sorry ass while doing so. The thought in him is sour and the sun above them is scorching and the road beneath and before them is long.





	Thirst

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bokeiji](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokeiji/gifts).



> "Ohh, I wonder if I'll manage 1000 words", she thought. "Oh yes, I'll reach 1000 easily after all, excellent", she then thought. "Oh kshkjhshk for the love of God I couldn't write concisely at gunpoint", she again thought after blabbering a lot and then checking the word count.
> 
> You're witnessing something truly remarkable now, me writing Jeandré! While Maxiel was also an option! Omg! For some reason this pairing, the mentions of biking in a magnificent three-way fic and the roadtrip prompt in bokeiji's request all spoke to me, so, uh, I'm here now and I can only hope I did these total boyfriends justice ;)
> 
> I'd like to wish **bokeiji** a very happy Christmas here and I sincerely, sincerely hope that you enjoy this small present from me; and the same applies to all of you who read, of course! :) :) And I'd also like to thank the hereby anointed Jeandré expert hbb for patiently answering what must have felt like weird and certainly unexpected questions about Jev's workout routines, and also for throwing in a couple of excellently-worded remarks about sharing exercising material on Instagram which I use here with alterations; so, thank you, muffin!
> 
> (Oh and one more thing; 'tis the season of horrible makeshift French again, so what Jev snaps at André there seems to mean "go fuck yourself" :D)
> 
> Very merry holidays and a happy/hot/smutty/fluffy/kinky/whatevery year 2019 to everyone!

After having toiled in André’s wake for several surprisingly agonizing kilometers, Jev can certainly recall all of the reasons he has for preferring running over biking, and not only lightning fast but also in striking detail.

At times he does feel like a rarity of an athlete for not being that into biking, really. All of his colleagues seem to be more than keen to not only bike regularly but do so in groups of at least three people _and_ make sure that the said group stops at least once on their way to take both squad photos and red-faced selfies, just to make sure that everyone can see how they’ve climbed halfway up a mountain somewhere in southern France on bicycles together and now have every right to look self-satisfied about it. No, Jev likes to run; and to run on his own. Not in pairs, not in groups, not while sharing the airy, photogenic landscapes and sunrises he sees with the world while conveniently leaving out all the ugly panting and the pungent smell of sweat and the prickling ache bound to follow kilometer after kilometer of running.

Jev’s limits are his own and so is breaking them his own. He doesn’t feel the desire to display himself to the world time and time again, showcase the way he is made out of steel and spirit. And when he runs, there is only him and what he can bring himself to do with his own strength, he against himself without a single external element added. But André has asked Jev to join him on a bike trip, and Jev has inclined. And as they climb and Jev feels like his innards are about to rip through his abdomen, he can’t - for the love of everything that’s still good and beautiful in this rotten world - remember what exactly were his reasons for that.

Maybe he would have felt like slightly the lesser man of the two if he had said no? Maybe there existed an underlying and highly unnecessary itch to somehow prove himself; not an actual _need_ , simply a will, to show that sure he could do it, why not? Breaking a sweat and pushing himself to and over both his physical and mental limits are nothing new to him, and it’s not like he hasn’t used a bicycle ever in his life, sure - but to the deepest circles of Hell with André and his bikes and his ridiculous thighs, curses Jev in an uphill that seems endless.

 _The only good thing about this horror is that if I die here, at least I’ll be staring at his sorry ass while doing so_. The thought in him is sour and the sun above them is scorching and the road beneath and before them is long.

“You alive?” calls André quite casually from in front of him and causes Jev to pull an involuntary and rather unfortunate steering manoeuvre that makes his bike swerve sharply to the left.  
“ _Va te faire foutre_ ”, grunts Jev while forcing the bike back into the direction they’re actually headed. André lets out a choked laugh at him, doesn't look over his shoulder, and Jev has to coaxe himself into thinking that if he manages to pedal hard enough to match André’s pace and thus stays with him, he can reward himself by kicking André right in the family jewels once they finally take a break somewhere. If they ever take a break somewhere, that is.

Simply following André’s lead and only responding to his remarks every now and then leaves Jev quite free to sink into thinking about why the hell he has submitted himself to the torment he’s going through. If he doesn’t feel the need to showcase his abilities to the world in general, why would he feel the need to showcase them to some god-damned André?

But no matter how fast he pedals and no matter which way he breaks his back, Jev can’t get away from the lingering feeling that in a very inconvenient turn of events - or rather mindsets - he has developed a multitude of reasons, though. A strange kind of fascination he can't quite wrap his head around. Annoyance bordering somewhere on the edges of inexplicable admiration. André appears to him as an embodiment of an extremely infuriating puzzle waiting to be solved, impossible to figure out and equally impossible to put down, and Jev’s thoughts keep falling down the twisting rabbit hole that is André and his quirks and impossibilities over and over again.

And then again, it could also be asked why it was _him_ who André asked to come along?

The thoughts in him are absorbing and the sun above them is scorching and the road beneath and before them is long.

What Jev does like is the way in which taking his helmet off for a moment throws him back to racing once they have stopped and he gets to do so. The free flow of air feels cool on his damp skin and in the midst of the mess his hair is even though the weather is hot and sunny; and the bicycle helmet doesn’t cover his face like a racing helmet always does, but he still reflexively takes in a deep breath while removing it, as if he had just gotten out of his car and was now trying to return back to the surface of the Earth from the restless clouds of adrenaline and speed and the wild howling of electricity. He sits on a boulder and drinks greedily from his water bottle, his eyes instinctively flutter shut at the refreshing feeling of not dying of thirst after all. André doesn’t even sit down, the show-off, but at least his chest heaves and his shirt is blotched in a way that tells Jev he must have done _some_ work himself. It pleases Jev to see this to an extent he doesn't fully recognize.

André cocks his hip and rests his weight on one foot, scratches the back of his neck and eyes Jev with naked curiosity.  
“Alright?” he simply asks. Jev takes two more gulps and then caps the bottle again and sighs theatrically like he was in a soda commercial.  
“Yeah, yeah. I just still prefer running to this”, he snorts, can’t help hurling a sardonic smile at André. “The only good thing about this I can think of right now has been the well-formed scenery right in front of me”, he adds in a second, hiding somewhere in the grey area where exasperated half-jokes mix with vaguely meaning parts of them.

“I knew you would enjoy it in the end” is André’s response, and Jev knows he should probably not swallow the hook André has hidden in his wording but he still can’t bring himself to stop, as if it was all some weird kind of rivalry.  
“Which one? Biking or staring at your butt?”  
“Which one you think I thought you'd enjoy?”  
Jev feels his words sticking to the back of his throat - dryness, probably, poor water intake, Jesus, he really should know these things better by now - and he can't quite make out the compass point the wildly roaming conversation is fixed on anymore, or whether there is a compass point at all. But for some reason he's got an inkling which answer André is after, and he sure as hell isn't going to grant André the satisfaction of giving it to him. Why does he feel the need to somehow compete with André in the world series of being insufferable all of a sudden?  
“Biking”, he says and takes a long gulp of water again, staging a nonchalant act but oddly antsy inside.

André takes only about three steps across the time and space of the dust that’s separating them and stops to stand right in front of Jev, and Jev hesitantly lowers his hand and the water bottle from his lips as he looks up, the act of sucking on the sports cap in front of André suddenly feeling disturbingly vulgar, almost suggestive. He can't bring himself to lap away the droplets that are left on his lips, not under the gaze of André's cat-like eyes, narrow and stinging.

Not that he needs to after André has bowed down to kiss him, as if chasing after the water on Jev's lips to soothe a thirst himself.

Jev is already exhausted and out of oxygen to a measure and now André pressing his mouth on his makes what's left of his breath hitch altogether and his head feels bubbly and - _what?_ André's air tastes of something, maybe of torrid sunlight, maybe of salt and adrenaline, maybe of the dusty road, and he radiates sweaty summer heat against Jev's thighs and chest. Jev can't quite bring himself to respond but he doesn't pull away either, simply trying to line his thoughts in order again, trying to figure out whether what's happening is good or bad and miserably failing in all his attempts when the heat of André's lips overrides everything. _Oh fuck_.

André retreats and that's when Jev suddenly finds that what happened actually _was_ rather pleasurable, certainly more pleasurable than the lack of it.  
“Do that again”, he whispers instinctively, without really thinking about anything, the words he actually utters and what he actually is asking of André and that it actually is fucking _André_ kissing him. But André obeys - for what seems like once in his lifetime André bends without question and leans in again, and a primal urge in Jev tells him to open his mouth, let André in and drink him, drink like he was a crystal fountain in the middle of desolate wasteland. _Shit_ , it feels good in a way Jev could have never imagined, and it may be because of the cocktail of chemicals that the exercising has stewed in their bodies but André is demanding and Jev is willing to yield, not bothering to analyze the reality of having André’s tongue against his own too through.

Jev finds himself being out of air in a completely different way from the one before once André’s lips leave his again, both their breaths rapid and ragged, and he swears his heart beats more feverishly now that it has done in any of the uphills they have tackled.  
“I…” starts André, and Jev realizes he’s bearing witness to the rare sight of André trying to regain composure and _lapsing_ , his hands still cupping Jev’s jawbone. _Oh_.  
“Oh fuck”, blurts André next. If Jev didn’t know better, he would actually say that André is slightly alarmed now, the dots of his deeds connecting in his mind in a chain event; and Jev reaches to brush André’s cheek in an automated reaction that feels oddly intimate considering that they have just, well, frenched against a sizable rock on the side of some sun-burnt road that could as well be named Via Dolorosa for all Jev knows.  
“Don’t”, he exhales. For some reason he feels no need to continue the sentence any further. “I… I enjoyed it.”

What flashes across André’s face and gaze can be nothing but relief, no matter how passing, and his almond eyes ignite.  
“It’s probably the endorphins”, he still reasons as a hopelessly useless half-excuse for himself before planting a small peck on the corner of Jev’s lip, against the spill of a smile in there, as if trying to assure himself anew of the realness of it all.  
“Most likely, yes”, answers Jev, hushed; he instantly knows better than to believe it.  
“But did you really need to bring me all the way here in order to do that?” he continues, willingly speaking into Andre's breath and letting his own blend with it, allowing both the inevitable confusion and the unexpected kind of _contentment_ he feels tint his voice. “Was there really nothing... less exhausting you could think of?”  
“I could have gotten you drunk at a party or something like that, that is true”, agrees André with an infuriating yet somehow wonderfully enviable air of matter-of-factness; and it’s only later when it occurs to Jev whether André actually _has_ considered that as well, such is the quickness of the response. “But would it have been any better that way?”

Jev spends an exaggerated moment looking ponderously up at André while knowing the answer in a heartbeat. He shrugs for show and then finally shakes his head.  
“No, I guess not”, he says, and the smirk in his cadence echoes André’s.

They slowly get back on their bikes and back on their way after a while. Jev’s legs feel light now and his head lighter still. Gentle wisps of things changing twirl in the soft, dust-speckled air they share; and their thoughts are warm and the sun above them is kind and the road beneath and before them is bound to reach an end.

  



End file.
